Last Christmas
by simplymondler
Summary: Can Chandler move past the mistakes of last Christmas? Mondler oneshot.


Last Christmas

Can Chandler move past the mistakes of Last Christmas?

A/N- Remember me? Sorry it's been so long, everything's a little busy at the moment but I'm still trying to write in between the chaos! If you hadn't guessed this one is inspired by WHAM's classic Last Christmas...at least it's a classic in my bit of the world! RIP George.

* * *

Chandler stared into the fire, idly watching as it crackled and roared, hissing violently as the fierce flames lit the otherwise darkened living room. He sat alone on the uncomfortable couch, shadows being cast across his face as he cradled his almost empty scotch glass. Outside in the surrounding woods the wind howled through the trees as the storm picked up, battering the wooden lodge as hail hit relentlessly against the glass windows.

What a merry frickin Christmas this was turning out to be.

With a heavy sigh he raised the cold glass to his lips once more, taking another long sip of his drink. As the liquid slowly burned his throat he grimly reminded himself that however bad it seemed this year, at least it had beat last Christmas...

~o0o~

Flashback – _Last Christmas_

"That was the best party ever! Did you see the guy with the turtles? I mean, he was awesome!"

"Yeah, he sure was," Monica grunted as she helped her friend up the final set of stairs.

"I mean turtles are cool, do you think he could turn them into ninjas? That would be even cooler."

"I doubt it," she muttered, breathing a sigh of relief as they made it to the hallway between their apartments.

"Christmas Mutant turtles, no wait," he corrected himself, "Mutant Christmas Ninja turtles. No, no, Ninja Christmas turtles."

"All the same thing, sweetie," she told him with a soft smile.

"Maybe I'll get a turtle?" he continued his drunken musing, "although, I doubt the chick and duck would approve. I mean the chick probably won't care but the duck won't want to share a bath with a turtle...I mean he already has to share with Joey."

"Right," Monica chuckled, shaking her head fondly.

"I'll probably have to wait for them to go to bird farm in the sky and then, oh!" He tried to click his fingers, succeeding only in whacking her in the face.

"Ouch," she chastened although he didn't seem to even notice either the act or the rebuke as he continued his rambling totally oblivious.

"Oh! Then I could get turtles instead of snakes. I could be crazy turtle man, does that still work? Will kids still run screaming?"

"I'm sure they will," she humored him, her hand patting his chest. "Now, come on, let's get you to bed."

"I'm not gonna argue with that," he grinned cheekily, his blue eyes sparkling.

She tried to throw him a stern look but was too amused with his drunken flirting.

"Alone," she corrected pointedly. "You're sleeping alone."

"Aw, that's just plain mean," he pouted as she struggled to keep him upright and push open the door to apartment 19.

"Just stating the truth," she murmured, managing to balance him as she flicked the light on.

"I...hey it's my apartment!"

She rolled her eyes, as much as she loved drunk Chandler she was grateful that her time with him was coming to an end. She should have bought a clue when the others slowly disappeared from the party with lame excuses one by one. Before she knew it, it had been just the two of them left...and she'd been left with the responsibility of getting him home.

"Yep, it's your apartment and just over there is your lovely warm bedroom and your nice cozy bed just waiting for you."

Just like hers was waiting for her.

"I'm not a child, I know where my room is," he pointed out, moving away from her abruptly only to stumble, trip and end up in a heap on the floor.

Monica shook her head as he lay there giggling for a moment before disturbingly finding something on the floor and putting it in his mouth.

"Oooh chocolate!" he exclaimed happily, munching on what she really hoped was a random rolo and not a 'treat' left from one of the birds.

Right on cue the duck waddled in from the bathroom, seeming to amuse Chandler further as it came up to him quacking. Monica sighed, this was not how she had planned for tonight to end.

"I promise I'm not going to make you share with a Christmas Turtle," Chandler informed his feathered roommate before trying to pick him up and hug him. The quacking got louder as it flapped its wings in protest, quickly retreating to the bathroom to hide.

Chandler remained sitting on the floor dejectedly.

"Hey," she gently poked him with the toe of her shoe.

"Hey, you're here!" he smiled lopsidedly at her as he turned to face her.

"I'm here, but you shouldn't be. You need to get up and go to bed," as tempting as it was, she wasn't going to leave him here on the floor.

"With you?" he brightened up, scrambling to his feet, wobbling slightly as she made a move to grab him and steady him.

Deciding it would be quicker not to correct him, she managed to guide him into his bedroom without incident. She helped him to remove his Christmas sweater and untie his shoes, before pulling back the covers for him to climb inside.

"You coming in too?" he asked, his blue eyes looking so hopeful she couldn't help but smile fondly, "there's plenty of room."

"No, honey," she reached out a hand to stroke his hair tenderly. "I'm going to sleep in _my_ bed."

"Why? Sleep here," he protested. "You should totally sleep here and not just for Christmas. You should sleep here every night."

"I don't think that would be a good idea," she chuckled going to stand up when a hand came out, threading his fingers through hers.

"You can stay if you wanna, I want you too," he squeezed her fingers, staring up at her. "You're amazing, Monica, beautiful, intelligent, quirky and a-amazing."

"Thanks," she fought down her blush, knowing he was just drunk.

"You really are, I mean it and you're so pretty and you know what?" he lowered his voice to a loud staged whisper, "You're my favorite outta _every_ one, _every_ where."

"You're pretty awesome too, Chandler," she promised, kneeling back down onto the floor beside him, squeezing his hand, "You're a very special friend."

He held her eyes, a large smile spreading across his face.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

Frowning she hesitated slightly before nodding. She didn't think they had many secrets but if there was something it was unfair to listen whilst he was this drunk but the chances are it was probably some silly drunken secret like he was going to buy a turtle and make it wear a Santa hat and numb-chucks or something.

"I love you, Monica," he declared, "really love you, I mean it."

Before she had any time to process what was happening, he gripped the back of her head and kissed her. At first she was too shocked but even under the influence he was a good kisser, better than she'd expected. There was an undeniable spark between them, unexpected feelings rushing through her as her heart sped up. She found herself instinctively kissing back, her tongue tasting the alcohol as she explored his mouth.

It felt wonderful, it felt incredible.

But it was wrong.

She was kissing her drunk, practically comatose friend. As reality struck her brain finally kicking in, she pulled herself back, standing up quickly and smoothing down her dress.

"I won't need those turtles or snakes after all," Chandler murmured a wide sleepy grin on his face as his eyes began to close. "Love you, Mon."

Swallowing, she watched as his breathing started to even out as slumber easily found him. Studying him for a moment she frowned before shaking her head, snapping herself out of it.

Slowly she stood up, tucking her hair behind her ear as she gazed down once more, taking in how contented he looked and a warmth filled her heart.

"Night, Chandler," she whispered before she quietly left, closing the door behind her.

* * *

Noon the next day found Chandler with a pounding head and a pounding heart stood facing the red and green Christmas Wreath which hung proudly on the door to apartment 20. Whilst he couldn't remember every minute detail from the Christmas party he could remember the more major parts...like confessing his secret love for her and kissing her.

Idiot.

At least she had kissed back, he remembered that vividly, her soft lips burnt into his memory but did she feel the same? Would she need time to think about it? Had she already thought about it? He couldn't remember her saying anything, his foggy mind unable to recall her face or reaction. She hadn't slapped him though, maybe that counted for something?

No, he shouldn't get his hopes up. She probably didn't feel the same and would let him down gently. It would hurt but he'd respect her decision if it came to that.

It was terrifying to think that he was about to have _the_ conversation. The conversation about 'them' that he had been avoiding for months. He'd been hiding his feelings, keeping them a secret, desperate not to be exposed and make everything uncomfortable...and yet now here it was, the biggest conversation of his life all because he couldn't handle his damn liqor.

Rolling back his shoulders he decided it was time to man up and accept his fate, he couldn't stand out here any longer. With a final deep breath he pushed open the door to find it empty although some quiet Christmas carols were playing in the background.

"Hello?" he called, hesitantly, hating to think he'd built up the courage for nothing.

"Hey," came the soft voice.

Swallowing he turned to see her coming from the bathroom, man she looked beautiful. Had she dressed up just for him? It was a little awkward though, he could sense tension in the air. Was she just as nervous? Was that a good sign or a bad sign?

"Look, Mon, I uh," he rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to form some coherent sentences, trying to remember any of the lines he'd been practicing over and over in his head all morning. "About what happened...last night...I"

"Oh," faint color briefly touched her cheeks before she shook it off, offering him a comforting smile as she came closer to him, her hand coming out to rub his arm, making his pulse quicken. "Don't worry about it, it's no big deal."

He frowned slightly, not fully understanding as her hand squeezed his arm briefly before her smile grew.

"It's ok," she continued, "I won't tell Ross, but you're a good kisser, Chandler," she chuckled before moving away, picking up her purse that was on the couch and starting to go through it.

"Uh thanks, but I," he swallowed confused as he watched her, "that's not. Look what I said I-"

"It's fine honestly," she dismissed easily, too easily, "forget about it, it's water under the bridge."

He didn't understand her words, didn't understand what was happening. Of all the times he'd pictured this talk it was never like this...

"But-" he was cut off by the door.

"Crap!" Monica exclaimed, her eyes shooting to the clock. "He's early! Can you let him in, I'll be ready in a second. Thanks."

With that she disappeared and Chandler stared after her. Totally confused.

The door sounded again and Monica shouted at him to get it and with a frown still deeply embedded on his features he automatically followed her orders, opening the door. A guy in a suit holding a bunch of flowers stood there, someone that he vaguely recalled from last night.

Why was he here? What was going on?

"Um, is Monica in?" the guy asked seeming just as confused as Chandler just stood there staring at him like he was a complex piece of the puzzle. "Um, hello? Do you speak English?"

He was here for Monica? But, why?

"Yeah, she..." he swallowed, realization slowly and painfully starting to kick in as Monica appeared behind him, shooting him a look as she pushed passed him to reach the man, pulling him in.

"George, come on in, don't mind Chandler, he's still hung over from last night," she dismissed him as he continued to stand there, staring at them.

She had a date?

"I'm not surprised, I remember you trying to feed punch to that turtle," he chuckled, stepping inside and looking Monica over. "Wow, you look gorgeous."

"Thank you," she blushed.

After everything he'd confessed last night she had a date?

"I got you some flowers."

Chandler watched in a daze, unable to believe she could be this cruel. This wasn't Monica, she wouldn't do this.

"They're beautiful," she murmured closing her eyes as she inhaled. "Thank you! Chandler, would you mind putting them in some water? We need to go to catch our show."

He mumbled something that vaguely resembled a 'sure' as she shoved the flowers at his chest, grabbed the stranger's hand and ran out of the door with barely a goodbye, leaving him standing there.

Alone.

He didn't know how long he stood there, staring at the open door as his mind desperately tried to comprehend and understand what had just happened. What had just happened?

With a heavy heart and mind he dumped the flowers on the kitchen table and moved to the couch, dropping his head into his hands. The Christmas music continued to play, mocking him as the truth started to sink in. She wasn't interested in him. She didn't feel the same. She didn't even have the decency to talk it through with him...

She didn't need to though, he got the message.

Got it loud and clear.

The earlier nerves and adrenaline, the hopes and fear of starting a relationship with Monica that had filled him earlier were fast turning into confusion and pain; the pain slowly tearing him apart. The worse case scenario was actually playing out.

She didn't want him.

Never would.

What a merry frickin Christmas this was turning out to be...

* * *

 _End of flashback_

~o0o~

Chandler sighed heavily, scrubbing a hand across his face in frustration, his fingers digging into the side of his nose as he tried to forget, tried to forget last year and the intense emotions that were still attached to the memory.

Replaying and reliving how his heart got broken was hardly going to help him to try and heal it.

"Hey, you ok?"

With a frown marring his face Chandler turned slightly, still trying to shake off his lingering heartache as he watched the woman who was the root cause of it all climb down the rickety staircase.

"Hey, uh...yeah, I'm..." he cleared his throat confused as he tracked her movements, his voice rough and quiet, "What, uh, whatcha you doing up at this hour?"

"I couldn't sleep," she confessed as he felt her eyes on him, studying him. "It's looks like you're having the same trouble?"

"Maybe," he shrugged, not admitting he hadn't even tried to go to sleep yet, he didn't want the nightmares to haunt him.

She silently nodded as she walked around the couch, her eyes obviously taking in the untouched pile of blankets and the pillow but thankfully she didn't comment.

"I'm sorry you got the short straw with the couch," she apologized as she settled next him, curling her legs up under her. "It's really uncomfortable isn't it?"

"Yeah," he agreed, his lips curving up slightly as she wiggled around trying to find a spot comfortable enough for her.

Eventually his eyes moved away from her and settled back to the crackling fire.

"So, I guessing the reason you can't sleep isn't that you're overexcited and keeping watch for Santa's sleigh?" she asked softly.

He shook his head, hoping she'd understand it meant 'no' to not just his answer but to his lack of consent to the whole conversation. He wasn't interested tonight, wasn't interested in being sociable or having to make conversation. He'd put up a front all day, hell he'd put up a front all month and now he deserved to be able to drop the uncover act and just have some peace. Alone.

He just wanted to forget for one night.

Forget everything.

Doubting that would be possible he took another sip of his drink, letting it fully coat his tongue before swallowing, savoring as the amber liquid coated his throat.

"You're drinking scotch at this hour?" she frowned and he shrugged again, not wanting to justify his actions.

As if she sensed his mood she silently stood up, walking away. For a split second he hoped she'd actually taken his hint and was leaving him alone but he wasn't surprised to watch her instead pass the perfectly decorated Fir tree and disappear through the archway into the kitchen. He half-listened to her as she moved around but mostly listened to the storm destroying outside and the fire hissing and sparking away in front of him.

Moments later she returned with two partly filled glasses, placing one on a coaster on the wooden rustic coffee table in front of him, whilst keeping one herself as she resumed her position.

"You're drinking scotch at this hour?" he repeated her words back to her and she just shrugged in a can't beat them join them way. "Look, you don't have to stay up with me," he told her quietly, "I don't need babysitting."

"Trust me, when I used to babysit I wouldn't give them scotch," she tried to joke and he tried to smile but both failed.

"I'm ok," he eventually lied.

"You're not, you've been quiet since we arrived here," she pointed out softly, her tone even.

He held back a sigh, staring again at the burning logs and relentless flames. He shouldn't really be surprised that she'd noticed. He'd tried to hide it, tried to keep it hidden and avoid her but it was hardly crowded enough for that.

This year the others had decided it would be a great idea to hire out a log cabin for Christmas, just the six of them, no 'adults' or parental figures. It was meant to be fun, exciting even but instead it meant he was trapped with her for four days with no excuses or escape routes.

After the initial harsh rejection he'd managed to eventually dampen the pain, rebuild himself and overtime his crush had slowly ebbed away. He had even thought that maybe he was finally over her, had successfully moved on and become a stronger person because of it.

That was until talk of Christmas had began and he realized he had been wrong.

Very wrong.

Slowly with every mention of mistletoe, decorations and secret santas his repressed memories started to resurface. With every Christmas song and festive reference the feelings of hurt and bitterness became stronger and more powerful. As the weeks, days and hours progressed the tortuous feelings had consumed him fully, becoming overwhelmed by the anguish and pain he had felt that day.

He just wanted it to be over.

For the New Year to start so he could bury his feelings for another year.

He just prayed it would all go back to normal once this stupid holiday was over. It had to for his own sanity.

"A penny for your thoughts?" she questioned her eyes fixed on him, clearly not believing his claims that he was fine.

Sighing, he drained the drink in his hand, letting the last drop of alcohol hit his tongue before placing the empty glass on the table beside the one she'd brought him. He then promptly picked up the new one leaning back as he took a sip, pointedly remaining quiet.

"Anyone ever tell you you're a stubborn one, Bing?" she murmured taking a sip of her own drink.

"Pot. Kettle," he told her, wishing she would leave him be. Chandler just wanted to drink the remainder of Christmas Eve away, be able to fall into a drunken stupor and be hung over so, he would sleep through most of Christmas day and miss it .

They sat in silence for a while, each slowly consuming their drink as they listened to the storm whirling and crashing around them.

"It's getting worse out there, huh?" she commented, turning her gaze to the darkened windows as the rain continued to batter them.

"I doubt Santa will be able to make it out," he muttered. "These working conditions are probably against the reindeer union."

She snorted slightly, facing him again, studying his face and he let her for a long moment before he broke his gaze, letting it fall to the rug on the floor. He couldn't let her stare at him for too long, it was too dangerous; she'd see things she shouldn't and he couldn't fool himself again that she returned his feelings.

It was true what people said, once bitten, twice shy. The pain just wasn't worth it.

"Well, he's from the North Pole right, so they must be used to a little snow," Monica mused.

"I thought he was from Neverland," Chandler tried, tried to keep the conversation light and stupid and away from the bitter reality until she finally caved in, gave up and left him alone.

Monica frowned, "I thought that was Peter Pan?"

"Same difference, all made up crap," he shrugged, causing her to shake her head in concern.

"You really are Mr Bah humbug today," she commented gently.

He shrugged again, knowing that was an understatement.

"I've been called a lot worse," he muttered, his glass at his lips once more.

"Chandler," she sighed, her hand reaching out and landing on his knee, clamping, burning, trapping him. It wasn't welcome. "What's wrong? What's going on with you?"

He instantly shook his head, despite the fire his soul had turned to ice tonight, the drink slowly helping to take the edge off it all. He wasn't going to ruin that by talking. Especially not to her.

"There's no point," he muttered, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Just leave it, Mon."

As he expected she didn't listen to him, "Talk to me, please? Come on we tell each other everything."

He swallowed hard.

"No we don't."

His sharp confession had been spoken quietly but she'd heard it. Hurt flashed across her face which managed to both annoy him and make him feel equally guilty for putting it there.

Damn it, he was the one hurting here, she was the one that had hurt him. She had no right to make him feel guilty about it.

"Chandl-"

"Seriously, just drop it," his words were harsher than he'd intended, the alcohol no doubt stopping his ability to completely hide his anger and frustration. Annoyed he stood up, needing to move away from her hand and from her. It was too much. "Look," he sighed, trying to calm himself, trying to remind himself that it wasn't fair to completely blame her. "I'm not great company tonight, so why don't you go back upstairs? I'll see you in the morning."

Her blue eyes were narrowed as they stared at him, knowing his attempts of avoidance and escape all too well. She would also know that his attempts were useless; he couldn't leave this stupid cabin and she was sat where he was meant to be sleeping.

"I haven't finished my drink yet," she informed him, not moving; her own tactic obvious.

"Then drink quicker."

She merely raised her eyebrows at his tone but didn't give in. Instead she stubbornly took the smallest sip of her drink, to illustrate her point. Challenging him. Not raising to the bait he downed his own drink, knowing she was watching his every move as he grabbed his old glass and marched into the dark kitchen, dumping the glasses onto the counter.

Closing his eyes he leaned against the sink, his fingers gripping the cold porcelain as he tried to get a grip on his emotions. He hated this. Hated Christmas. Hated everything. He just needed her to leave him alone, let him fall asleep until the New Year. Once Christmas was gone these feelings would be gone.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he jerked surprise, not having heard her follow him. He moved away, needing space between them.

"Chandler, please, I'm worried about you."

Immediately there was a lump in his throat and he risked a glance at her. Through the darkness he could see her sad pained pleading face and wished he hadn't looked. As much as part of him held her responsible for his pain, he didn't want to cause her any hurt.

He wouldn't wish this on anyone.

"Don't be," he sighed, shaking his head and trying to clear the fog, trying to get a grip on himself, "it's...it's just a really crap time of year. I-I'll, uh be ok once it's over."

God, he hoped it was true, hoped this feelings had only resurfaced because of the time of year. He prayed they weren't back for good.

"You've never hated it like this before though," she pleaded, trying to understand. "You always hated Thanksgiving but Christmas you've always tolerated. You've never loved it per say but it's never been...like this. What's changed this year?"

He made a weird sound in his throat, something between a surprised scoff and raw pain as he turned back to face her, his dark clouded eyes meeting hers. Had she really forgotten already? Did it really mean that little to her that she hadn't even remembered after a year? Couldn't recognize the hurt that her rejection was still causing him?

"You," he finally choked out watching as her eyes widened in surprise.

"Me what?" she barely whispered.

As the frustration and disbelief built up unreasonably quick inside him he knew he had no choice, knew it had to finally come out; let the pent up emotions burst out, come head to head and he'd have to deal with the consequences tomorrow.

"Last Christmas," he snapped, wetting his lips as his anger rose. "Last Christmas when I put my heart on the line, told you my feelings and in return I got to be the greeter guy for your date."

Monica stared at him, her mouth hanging slightly open, her eyes wide and intense as she stood rooted to the spot.

"I told you I loved you, gave you my heart and you couldn't even be bothered to reject me to my face? Not give me the chance to talk it through? You're one of my best friends, someone I'm meant to rely on and you did that to me? And yet you still expected me to be there for you, be your shoulder to cry on when it didn't work out.

"It wasn't fair, Monica."

Shaking his head, not sure if he was more annoyed at himself for revealing so much or her lack of reaction he pushed passed her, back into the living room, pacing to the window, staring out for a moment as he calmed his racing heart. Once he'd managed to regain some resemblance of control he collapsed heavily back onto the couch.

Waiting. Waiting for the inevitable aftermath.

It wasn't long before she re-emerged. Her face was still white and pale as she silently sat back down next to him, both staring into the forgotten diminishing fire

"I'm sorry," her voice was soft, almost weak. "I-I didn't realize. I thought you were drunk..."

"I was," he admitted softly.

"I thought what you said was just because you were hammered, that you were being over-friendly a-and talking rubbish. I didn't even think you'd remember in the morning."

Chandler swallowed nodding, trying to understand it from her point of view, trying to get his head around that maybe she hadn't rejected him last year.

"It was all true," he finally confessed softly, still talking to the fire. "I meant every word I said."

Closing his eyes, he let the silence surround them as she took in his words.

"I didn't know," she eventually told him, "I really didn't. Y-you must have thought that I was horrible. You must have hated me and-"

"Never," he promised, shaking his head in denial. "I could never hate you, Mon. It just..it hurt, a lot."

He didn't want to tell her how much it had tore him apart. How much it had darkened his world.

"And I'm sorry," she swallowed. "God Chandler, I," she hung her head, "I wish you had talked to me, straightened it all out."

Shrugging he silently agreed but knew he'd had his reasons. He'd known that given her reaction she didn't feel the same, so what was the point of making things even more awkward and uncomfortable for a flat out rejection? He hadn't wanted to risk losing her or the group.

"Last Christmas," she continued, "it was such a horrible mistake."

Even though he knew her words were true they stung, hurting deeply. He hung his head, closing his eyes, trying to get a handle on himself, trying to keep this sharp pain under control. He just needed to hold himself together until he could get rid of her and be alone.

"Ok, well then..." he cleared his throat, hating how weak his voice sounded, "you've, uh made that perfectly clear."

He went to get up, suddenly needing more space between them, needing to try and distance himself from her.

"No, Chandler, wait," her hands were on his knees, his chest, pushing him back down as she shifted closer. Her hands moved to frame his face, "no," she whispered, shaking her head as she tried to get him to meet her eyes, "I didn't mean, I meant what _I_ did to _you_. Dismissing your feelings like that, I was a fool, an idiot," he finally braved to meet her eyes, they were a passionate dark shade of blue.

"What do you mean?" he whispered, desperate to understand.

"I wish I could take back what happened," she whispered, her grip on his face tightening. "I wish I would have believed you and talked to you the next day. I wished I hadn't tried to ignore how much your kiss affected me and we could have really talked and maybe tried dating and-"

"Dating?"

His head was starting to spin, her hands still clamped tightly around him, grounding him as he tried to focus on her face as well as her words.

"Yes," she smiled, her thumbs caressing his cheeks, her face so close to his that he was almost mesmerized. "It took me a while but slowly that kiss changed how I saw you, made me start to think differently but you didn't seem there and..." she shook her head sighing, "We've wasted so much time."

"W-what?" he was still struggling to comprehend this, trying to believe what he was hoping she meant.

"Well, that's assuming you still like me like that now, I mean I understand if I've already blown my chance and if you can't forgive me for treating you like that. I don't want to presume and-"

"Monica," he spoke softly, his own hands coming up to cup her face as he cut off her nervous babble. "I still like you like that."

He offered her a shy smile as he watched her face light up, "Really?"

"Really," he confirmed his smile growing as he studied her face, seeing that she wanted this as much as he did, giving him the courage he needed, "I still love you."

Slowly he leaned forward, giving her time to back away but instead she moved closer and their lips met for the first time in a year. It was a chaste kiss at first, but soon the passion built as a year of uncertainty and upset ran through them. He felt her hands move from his face to the back of his head, threading through his short strands and provoking a fire within him.

Eventually he pulled back, but only by inches, staring into her desire-filled eyes as their chests rose and fell quickly. He was going to ask if she wanted to slow down but he could see it in her eyes; the need to heal, to be together, to not waste any more time.

Without words they closed the gap again, kissing harder, more passionate this time. She moved from the couch onto his lap, their bodies coming closer together and he groaned slightly in approval, his hands running up and down her spine as she shivered against him.

The storm raged outside ignored as their senses became filled with nothing but each other. As the heat from the fire died down, logs having long ago turned to mere embers, the pair didn't even notice. They sunk down onto the couch, their own heat and passion consuming them.

Much later, when Chandler lay with a sleeping Monica in his arms and a blanket thrown over them, he smiled, kissing the side of her head and nuzzling her hair. Last Christmas might have been horrible, he reflected, but this Christmas he was pretty sure would more than make up for it and would be one they would remember for the right reasons.

What a merry Christmas it had turned out to be.

The End.

* * *

A/N – Sorry if you spot many mistakes, I didn't get as much time as I wanted to edit this. I mean I could have edited it more but then I wouldn't have time to wrap Christmas presents...and that would probably pee off a lot of family members even more!

Anyhow, I hope someone enjoyed this and as always I would _love_ to hear your thoughts and I hope you all have a lovely Christmas!


End file.
